The Secret Life of Spencer Reid
by MyOtherNameIsAPseudonym
Summary: So Spencer Reid is a product of the School. That's pretty much it. Please read, and see if you can suggest a better title. Rated 'cause I used a swear word *le gasp* but don't worry, it was censored. There's some OCs here, so I guess if you have something against OCs you probably shouldn't read it. Anyways, please read and review.
1. Chapter 1

**_Um._**

**_Yeah._**

**_Don't worry, there will be more. This was written on a whim, like, an honest-to-cod WHIM. This idea literally just popped into my head today and I sat down to try and write out a few scenes and then THIS happened. 2952 words of a random plot-bunny attack. I've got a total of 6,000-something on my google docs, so never fear, there will be more. The plot is kind of wonky because I literally just sort of sat down and wrote whatever came into my head. _**

**_AAAANNNYYWAAAAAYYYYSSSSS, for those of you who are reading Red Wings, the next chapter won't be out as soon as the last ones have been (admit it, I've spoiled you) because I'm EXTREMELY busy and, you know, school and stuff, AND I'm trying to work out the plot. I'm ALSO re-reading all of JP's books to get the characterization and carp right._**

**_For those readers who have't read Red Wings, I would like to shamelessly self-advertise and suggest you go read it. _**

**_Also, I do realize that some of the stuff in here won't be correct, year-wise and all. Just, like, suspend all disbelief and buckle in for the long haul. ALSO I've only seen a few episodes of Criminal Minds (it's NOT ON NETFLIX UGH) so sorry if I screwed some stuff up. Most of that comes in the next chapter, though, so I guess I'll see you then._**

**_If you bothered to read this far, you get a cookie. Enjoy!_**

Spencer Reid had secrets.

Everyone had secrets. But Spencer wasn't just 'everyone'- his secret(s) were more than the average 'I'm cheating on my wife' or 'I'm dealing drugs' or 'I'm a closet comic book nerd' or the old favourite, 'I'm in the closet about more than just my secret comic book collection'.

In his line of work, Spencer had heard it all, though the most common, by far, in his books, was 'I'm secretly a serial killer'. Seeing as he was employed to fight serial killers, it made sense that he had run across his fair share of them.

But that was besides the point.

Yes, Spencer Reid was hiding something, and it was hard. Daily, he hung around people whose job it was to discern humanity's hidden pasts and vices. His team was first-rate, the best of the best. Honestly, he had no idea how he had made it this far. All he could do was fervently thank the perception filters that had come with the monumental thing he was hiding.

There were reasons for his hiding, too. Very, very good reasons. He knew that when (there was no question about it- they would find out. It was only a question of 'when') they found out, they would be upset, and he couldn't stand the thought, but he also knew that they were reasonable people and they would understand the reasoning behind the secrecy.

The reason he had not divulged key bits of information on his past was to protect them. 'Them' being the team and everyone else he came into contact with on a daily basis. He knew that if he kept his head down, he could (probably) live his life in relative safety. He tried not to think about what would happen when it all went to hell in a tidy handbasket, as things were wont to do around him, but he struggled. It was hard to ignore the ominous feel of Fate's own obsidian sword that hovered over his neck and was held back only by the frail strand of woven lies that was liable to snap at any moment.

Perhaps he was being a tad overdramatic.

But that wasn't the point. The point was, that he had a very bad feeling as he swung his leather satchel over his shoulder that morning. Walking hurriedly to the subways, he stopped at his favourite coffee joint, purchasing his lifeblood and guzzling it down on his way into the crowded train carriage.

He hated the subway. It smelled horrible and it was crowded, two things that were not likely to (what's that word) it to Spencer, seeing as he had spent most of his life in a crowded, smelly place, and he didn't exactly have fond memories of it. But more on that later.

The only reason Spencer took the subway was because he needed to. It was an exercise of control over his phsyche. He had read about exposure therapy, and this was the only way he could think of to help rid himself of his fear of tight spaces that were not lit up by the sun.

The sun was his favourite thing. He had heard whispers of it in his younger years, from the ones lucky enough to have glimpsed it through a window, but he hadn't dared to believe in such a selfless thing. He couldn't begin to imagine a thing that gave light to the world, just because it could. He hadn't known that such goodness had existed in the world, for something to give its time up so freely for the good of others.

He remembered clearly the first time he had felt the warmth of it on his back. Even without his eidetic memory, he would have remembered it. How could he not have?

It had been the happiest day of his life.

_What good was being smart when you didn't know anything you could use?_

_Those were his thoughts as his chocolate eyes stared out from the wire dog crate, attentive and wary, watchful and terrified. He hadn't been pulled out for a while, now, and it was worrisome. He knew what happened to the experiments the whitecoats decided were 'obsolete', and he figured that it was nearing his time. He was the oldest one in the room, at age 19. That was a rough guess, based on his knowledge of the gregorian calendar and his partiality to October 9th. It wasn't like they would have let him know something as trivial as his own freaking birthday, right? That was too much to be expected from a bunch of sadistic scientists._

_The point was, after (roughly) 19 years, he figured he was well on his way to becoming classified as 'obsolete' and he was almost sure that the lack of tests was a sign. He didn't like to think about his probable imminent execution, but there wasn't much else to think about, because he was left in his crate all day. He couldn't talk to his fellow inmates, because there was a strict 'no-talking' policy that was gleefully enforced by the Institute's many vicious guards, known to the experiments as the Erasers._

_A few of them did manage to communicate, however. A girl who had been there for 16 years (approximately) and a 14 year old boy were the only ones stable enough for viable communication. The rest were simply stored there, in the dark room, as they waited to die._

_He had seen more than his fair share of death in his time, but he beared it because he had no other choice. He, the girl, and the boy communicated, and the small act of rebellion was what kept him sane. They managed to convey their respective thoughts and feelings in a language made up of minute hand gestures and facial expressions._

_None of them had names._

_For all his life, he had been known only by his numerical designation, 22564. The girl, 77652, and the boy, 15003, were all experiments. 77652 had been injected with steroids when she was little. They were supposed to make her strong, and they did. But they made her too strong- the whitecoats had gotten the doseage wrong. Her bones were thicker than average, and despite the lack of exercise she managed to get (spending your days in dog crates was not conducive to healthy living) her muscles bulged freakishly. The steroids had messed with her skin pigmentation, too, and she was a permanent grey-blue. Not that he or 15003 minded._

_It would be hypocritical of them both._

_He himself had been the victim of many more tests. They had messed with his head, so he was obscenely smart and remembered everything that had ever happened to him (which was not always a good thing). They had tried to make him strong, the same way they had tried on 77652, but they hadn't succeeded in him, either. This time, the dose was too low. His muscle growth was permanently stunted, but his bones were incrediably thick. Combine a lack of musculature with the fact that he hadn't had a proper meal in his entire life, and he knew that he would look permanently starved for the remainder of his life._

_Not that it was going to last that long, anyways._

_15003 was, by far, the most abnormal of the lot. The scientists had been dabbling in recombinant DNA at the time of his 'birth'. He had been spiced with chameleon DNA. It had only been partially successful, which was unfortunate for 15003. His body was scaly and his pupils were slitted like a lizard's, and he could only change colour under extreme duress. He was very skittish, because the scientists just loved putting him under said extreme duress._

_He noted that 15003 had been taken out earlier, while he had been sleeping, presumably, for testing, but that 77652 was slumbering restlessly in her own crate. He was, yet again, swept up in thoughts of his own imminent demise._

_Death was a fact of life, here. He had honestly been surprised when he had reached his 18th (ish) birthday. He had never expected to make it so far. And perhaps he should stop fretting- if they killed him, it would mean that they would stop hurting him. Death seemed to be the only way to escape. It was not that he was suicidal. He just wanted the pain to stop._

_The crate they had put him in was painfully small, now, and the steroids that had failed to make his muscles grow had made him grow in other ways- he was almost scarily tall for his age._

_He was one of the lucky ones. The scientists had taught him how to read and write, and they had permitted him to pore over their textbooks. Yes, it had been a part of a test on his retention and comprehensive skills, but it was the only good memory he had of this place. He knew what went on in the Operating Rooms and he understood the work they were doing. He knew that they were advancing humankind's understanding of biology. But he did not approve. Yes, the rewards were great, but the risks were too high. He had seen too much horror and death for him to be able to say anything different._

_His favourite book that they had let him read was the one on psychology- the inner workings of the human mind intrigued him like nothing else. He liked learning how people worked and what made them tick. He figured that every single whitecoat in the Institute was a psychopath. Either that, or they truly didn't see their experiments as people. They think of us like lab rats, he thought to himself in disgust._

_He knew that there was a world outside of this dark place, and that the people out there had no idea what went on in the tall building. He had heard the whitecoats talking about their own families and friends, and about how it was so difficult to keep what they did under wraps. They thought that what they were doing was revolutionary and were not happy with the need to keep it all under wraps._

_He couldn't wait for the day that one of them broke and the public found out about what had been going on, right under their noses._

_But he knew that he wouldn't live that long._

_At that thought, two Erasers entered the room, one carting 15003's crate (that, thankfully, contained 15003, who seemed to be alive and conscious, if scared half out of his wits.) and the other carrying a clipboard. The first Eraser plopped 15003 into his normal spot, directly across from him, and the second unclipped something from the clipboard and peered around the room, apparently looking for someone._

_His heart froze when the Eraser's eyes stopped on him. Time seemed to slow down as pure adrenalin was pumped through his system, his raw instincts (that were heightened by whatever had been done to his head) screaming at him to fight or flight. But as he could do neither, he just stayed there, frozen like a statue, as the hulking Eraser lumbered over threateningly. It neared, and soon was standing directly in front of the cage. It rattled the cage, laughing to his partner as it took note of his frozen terror, but instead of taking him out again for more tests (tests-bad-pain-fear-no-hurt-BAD) all it did was take the paper it had unclipped from the board and pinned it up on the side of his crate, next to the papers that proclaimed what they had done to him._

_The Erasers left and 77652 stopped pretending to be asleep. She peered at the paper from her own cage, which was right next to 15003's, and her face changed to one of horror and fear._

_He knew why._

_He could read the black print through the thin copy paper._

**Scheduled for extermination**

_Well, sh*t._

* * *

_It was a few hours later on the same day. 15003 had woken up, seen the paper, and immediately began tearing up. The bad thing about him being a chameleon was that his tear ducts were extremely oversensitive and he cried over everything. He wasn't a wimp. It was simply a fact of his biology._

_He had gotten used to the idea of his death. It didn't bother him as much as it probably should have. The only thing he regretted was the fact that he didn't have a name._

_As he stared blankly at the same blank wall that he had been staring at blankly at his whole life, he cracked an internal grin. He figured that, since he was dying, he should be allowed to name himself._

_He thought long and hard about it. Not because it would matter- he was dying anyways, and he couldn't tell his friends about it or they would be punished, so in the end he would die the only one to know his own name- but because he figured that he needed something to think about._

_He thought about all of the names he knew. He had heard the whitecoats calling each other by name. there had been Henry, Gerald, and Thomas. Trey, Davis, and Aaron. There had even been a Mattias, though he knew that name was unwieldy at best and it just sounded old-fashioned. Not that he would know much about fashion, but that was besides the point._

_The point being that all of those names were whitecoat names, and he wouldn't be caught dead (he laughed at the thought. Oh, irony.) with a name with such negative connotations. No._

_After some thought, he remembered the names of the authors of the textbooks he had read. The author of the psychology book had been named Thomas Reid. Since Thomas was out, he picked Reid. But, as a name, it sounded to him more like a last name, so he remembered the name of the man who had written the book on mathematics. Dr. Spencer Washington._

_Put them together and you get Spencer Reid._

_He liked the sound of that._

* * *

_It was a few more hours later and he was trying his best to get some real sleep, and failing pretty miserably. He tossed and turned. While he was used to the hard floor of his crate, seeing as he knew no differently, that didn't mean he had to like it._

_He had just reached that stage in the sleeping journey where he was asleep but still quasi-aware of his surroundings when he detected a disturbance. Jolting awake, he peered around the room, noting that the others had heard it, too._

_It was an unfamiliar sound, one that he had not yet had the pleasure of hearing. It was a sort of faint rustling that was overshadowed by loud, uncivilized conversation. The tone of voice was not something that the scientists would use, and they voices were too high to be from Erasers._

_Something was happening._

_The noises came to a peak when the door to the room where they were kept was opened._

_A tall blonde girl with wings - wings, that was where the rustling noise had come from, it was the feathers!- strode into the room, pausing only to stare sadly at them all, huddled in their crates. Spencer (that was going to take some getting used to, he had spent nineteen years going by 22564) noted that she wasn't surprised, which meant that she was probably an escapee herself. But she was in too good of health to have recently gotten out, so that meant she had been out for a while._

_She took the keys to the crates from where they hung tantalizingly on the wall and unlocked the cages of everyone in the room, including himself. He joined the rest of them in tumbling out of his crate and stretching such as he hadn't done in months. He smiled at her, but didn't speak. He knew his voice would be rough and painful from lack of use._

_"Alright, everyone, you're going to follow me, I know the way out!" she barked, obviously used to giving orders. We fell in behind her, following her out into the hallways, where we were joined by more bird-kids and experiments from the other storerooms. They followed her down to the bottom of the building, and up some dark stairways. They doubled their pace when they heard the padding of Erasers behind them._

_They emerged into the sewer area, and the girl, who had introduced herself as Max and the others with her as the Flock, pointed out the way to go that would take him and the others out. He nodded at her, giving her a happy grin, and made a break for it, hoping beyond hope that the rest would follow him._

_They did._

_The gaggle of mutants burst out of the sewer and into the streets of New York. Said streets didn't even blink-they had seen much weirder. But the experiments, they did blink. In wonder. None of them had ever properly seen the sun, felt its warmth on their backs, or inhaled the New York air. Yes, it was disgusting and full of pollutants, but they all just stood together and breathed it in, together._

_The mutants began breaking away, running as fast as they could away from the place that had held them captive for so long._

_Before they could join in the running, Spencer grabbed onto 77652 and 15003, asking them in their silent language if they could stay together._

_Gaining their assent, he grinned and they walked away calmly, together, and free._

**_Seriously, plz review. You have no idea how happy they make me._**

**_Or maybe you do._**

**_But that's neither here nor there. SONG OF THE CHAPTER IS Time of Dying by Three Days Grace, because it's what I'm listening to as I write this._**

**_Oh, wait, now it's Shining Star by the Manhattans. _**

**Okay, so there are two songs of the update.**

**ANYWAYS, REVIEW PLEASE (concrit is always, ALWAYS welcome)**

**~Pseu**


	2. Chapter 2

_A month after their escape found the three no longer in New York. They had stayed long enough to get their bearings in the new world, learning about stuff like taxes and social security numbers and credit cards. Also manners. They learned a lot about manners._

_Spencer stole a credit card from an angry woman. He felt bad, but he knew that she had money to spare, judging by her clothes and hair. He and his friends needed the money more. They, too, had named themselves. 15003 was now David Thomson and 77562 was Jenny Clarke. They had made their way to California, stopping on the way to get some forged identities. When they got there, Spencer got to work straightaway._

_He found them a temporary place to stay, squatting in an old warehouse, and got a job at a pizza place. The identity he had gotten made him 16 again, years younger than he really was. He was tall, yes, but he was still very childlike and nobody would be convinced if he had told them he was 19. Jenny was '18', and David was '16'._

_David invested in gloves and some hair dye, picking out a goth style, heavily laden with chains and tattoos. He figured that it was the best way to make it so that his eyes didn't stand out- people would assume that they were contacts._

_Jenny got a job at a local gym as a weights teacher, using her Institute-given gifts to earn some money. David was working part-time at a pizza joint that didn't give a crap about the way he looked, and Spencer got a job at the local university as a custodian._

_He made friends with the Dean of said university. Said Dean gave Spencer a full-ride scholarship as soon as he realized that he had employed a genius as a custodian. Spencer studied Psychology while continuing to work as a custodian. He needed the money to take care of his friends, who were quickly becoming more like a family. About a year after they had arrived in California, they had saved up enough to rent a little apartment. While it was small and moldy, it was better than squatting._

_A few years later, Jenny was now running the gym, David had moved on from pizzaman to an employee at an animal shelter (admittedly, it didn't pay well, but David felt that someone who knew what it was like to be caged should be taking care of the animals, and Jenny and Spencer agreed.) and Spencer had earned three PHds. He still worked as a custodian, but he gave lectures more often than not and was very well-respected at the tender age of '19'. In reality, he was 22, but it wasn't like he was going to say that. He figured that the steroids he had been given when he was younger had slowed his growing, because he honestly appeared to be younger than 19._

_But that was besides the point._

_Spencer knew that he would have to get a better-paying job, and soon. He didn't want to take David from his shelter or Jenny from her gym, but he knew that being a custodian wasn't going to cut it. He began job-hunting in earnest._

_But this time, he didn't want 'just' a job- he wanted a career. He wanted something that he could continue doing for the rest of his life, and be happy about it._

_One fateful day, he attended a lecture by Jason Gideon, and his whole life changed. He knew that this was the break he had been waiting for- he wanted to be a profiler when he grew up, to use the cliche phrase._

_After talking to Gideon and smoothing out a few details, he was on his way to the FBI Academy. He had talked to David and Jenny as well, and they were fine with him going, as long as he called every night and was careful. The identities they had gotten were very well-done (by this criminal whose name was probably not actually Neal Caffrey) but there was always the chance that they would be caught. And, of course, there was also the chance that the Institute would somehow find out about them._

_Spencer didn't think the chances of that were very high. He knew that he, Jenny, and David hadn't been that 'important' in the eyes of the whitecoats, but he also knew that he had been scheduled for execution and so he wasn't exactly eager to go back to that horrible, dark place. He also knew that he had a new skill, something like a perception filter. It was a little bit like the Invisibility Cloak in Harry Potter, but not exactly. Simply put, he could hide things._

_He could confuse people, too. It wasn't like he could control their minds- he could just obscure certain details, make them seem less important. Jenny called it his mind camouflage. He could also sense emotions. Nothing huge- he couldn't read minds. If he concentrated just a little, he could sort of sense what another person was feeling. It was all very useful when you were trying to escape notice._

_He promised to be careful and he was off, back to school, again._

_To say nothing else, he was proud of himself. He had graduated from the Academy and was on his way to his first day as a criminal profiler. He remembered the times when he was only a number and smiled at how far he had come. He was '22', or 25._

_He had moved to Virginia. It was a hard decision for Jenny and David, seeing as they had each built a life in California, but they had chosen to follow him there. They were family, and family stuck together. David's goth look had tamed over the years, but his wardrobe still consisted of mostly black and his hair was still dyed black, as opposed to its original sandy-brown. Jenny's muscles had evened out with the regular exercise and now seemed less… unnatural. She had grown taller, which might have helped. Her hair was a dark, dark brown and her skin was still unnaturally pale, but her green eyes never ceased to twinkle in amusement._

_As soon as the move had been complete, David had started hunting for a shelter to work at. Jenny picked up another local gym, but told them both that it just wasn't the same. She started looking into becoming a member of the police, noticing how the work, while difficult, was very fulfilling to Spencer._

_Years passed. Jenny became a cop. David continued his work at the shelter, becoming well-known in the area as a supporter of animal rights. Spencer grew closer to the team, but never did he introduce them to his first family. They got a bigger apartment with the money they each earned, and all was good. The team grew closer to Spencer, and they became a second family._

_The years they had spent, tortured, at the Institute, faded to the background, only coming out in the middle of the night, when everything was hazy and everyone was susceptible to nightmares._

Spencer was brought back to the present when the person sitting next to him on the subway farted.

_Ick._

It wasn't that bad, by normal-person standards, but when you're genetically engineered to be smarter than the average bear, and, as an extension, have an extremely sensitive nose (and ears, and eyes. But that's besides the point.) you smell things that you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy.

This was a similar case.

Judging from the frankly coma-inducing aroma, the rotund man next to him had recently chowed down on a burrito. More evidence to suggest this was the sauce that had stained his off-white old t-shirt. Said t-shirt also smelled.

Spencer simply couldn't wait to get out of the subway.

He looked away from the man, who was ignoring everything and playing Candy Crush on his phone, and searched for something more appealing to look at.

All he saw was a subway car full of people. Sure, there were some very nice-looking women, but he was too socially awkward to pull off a proper conversation. And you couldn't blame him, could you? He grew up in a dog crate- it wasn't as if social interaction was going to be something he was good at.

The point was, there was nothing to look at. But he needed something to do, before he asphyxiated. So he pulled out his sketchbook and a pencil and began drawing the scene in front of him.

The only person who knew about his love of drawing was David. Frankly, Spencer was embarrassed by it. He was sure that he wasn't very good, and nothing David had said would convince him otherwise.

The act of putting the world around him relaxed Spencer, and soon enough he was off in his own little world, not even noticing when the smelly man left, to be replaced by a very pretty woman. The lady was blonde-haired and her eyes were a most interesting grey-blue colour. She wore a dark-brown leather jacket and a nice white blouse paired with long jeans and boots. She wore glasses and the very tips of her hair were dyed violet.

At first, she too was occupied by her phone. But after a few minutes, Candy Crush got boring and she stowed the electronic in her pocket. She became very interested in the drawing Spencer was doing.

Spencer was still engrossed in his sketchbook, the rhythmic movements of the pencil lulling him into a meditative daze. The drawing was one of his best yet. Of course, in his mind, it was still a failure, but he felt a tiny sense of satisfaction at the fact that he was improving. Soon enough, he was adding the last detail.

_Aaannnddd…_ he was done! He quickly stowed his pencils in his bag and looked around, noting all that had changed since he had first looked up. He drew from memory, and so did not need to continually look around to get all of the shapes right.

He saw the pretty lady out of the corner of his eye and blushed when she realized that she was staring in shock at what he had drawn.

Thinking that, somehow, he had managed to offend her, he began stuttering out apologies.

"S-sorry! I know it's bad, but I was bored, a-and I needed something to do and I didn't bring a book a-and…" he trailed off as the lady shook her head, frowning in confusion.

She snatched the sketchbook out of his limp hands from where he had been attempting to shove it back into his satchel and opened it back up to the page, looking repeatedly from the picture back up to the scene around her, all the while speaking.

"Why are you apologizing? This is amazing! The detail is just, just _astounding_! This is one of the best sketches I've seen in my life, and, trust me, I've seen quite a few. Are you an artist?" The lady shot out, rapid-fire.

Spencer blinked at her, confused. He opened his mouth to respond, figuring it would be rude not to.

"Um, no, I'm not an artist. I just recently took up drawing as a sort of hobby. I was bored. Um, I work with the FBI." then, remembering that it was also considered polite to exchange names with people you are talking to, he introduced himself. "Dr. Spencer Reid, with the Behavioural Analysis Unit." he added a weak grin at the end, hoping that the woman would hand his sketchbook back and let him continue his ride in relative peace. He hated talking to people he didn't know- it was like navigating a land mine-strewn battlefield. He never knew what to say.

"Really? An FBI agent? That, my friend, is awesome. I'm Rebecca, Rebecca Anderson. I work with the art museum, I'm the one who sets up all the temporary, local artist displays. I get, like, a gajillion calls each day from amateurs who think they're hotshots when they can't even draw a nose straight. Trust me, I know art when I see it. This, man, is really good. May I?" Befuddled by the unexpected praise, he simply nodded, allowing her to flip through the rest of his ratty sketchbook.

The thing had been cheap, which was what he needed when he had bought it. He didn't have any delusions of grandeur, he just wanted a place dedicated to his scribbling, instead of the random sheaves of copy paper that he usually doodled on. So, one day, a few months ago, he had stopped by an art store and bought the cheapest sketchbook they had available. He was embarrassed by the woman, Rebecca, flipping through the drawings that he had been too ashamed (No, ashamed wasn't the right word, exactly. He just hadn't wanted to open himself up to Morgan's playful teasing.) to share with anyone. He had filled about three fourths of the sketchbook already, so Rebecca was pretty busy flipping through it all. It gave Spencer time to compose himself, get his jaw off the floor.

He had never encountered anyone like Rebecca before. She was very loud, but in a gentle sort of way. He didn't know anything about her, and, to be honest, he was a little bit intimidated by her overpowering personality, but he thought that he could probably like her. Not to mention, she was very pretty. Another blush formed across his face at the thought, but he forced it down before she noticed.

_No need to make this any more embarrassing than it already is,_ he thought to himself. Rebecca was muttering to herself as she looked over his work, analyzing it with an artist's eye. He decided he couldn't watch her and gazed awkwardly off to the side, very aware of her every move.

A few excruciating minutes later, she was done.

As she handed back the book respectfully, she asked doubtfully, "So you're saying that you just took up drawing recently?"

"Um, yeah. A few months ago. Like I said, I was bored. I'm really not that great, sorry." He averted his eyes and jammed the book in his satchel, none-too-gently. He didn't know what he was apologizing for, exactly, but he figured it was better safe than sorry.

"Not very good?! Mr. Spencer, like I said, I've seen a lot of art in my day and I have to say that was some of the best, especially for someone who only just started. I have a good feeling about you- you could go far in the art field, Mr."

"Um, it's Doctor."

"Sorry?" Rebecca asked, uncomprehending.

"It's Dr. Spencer, technically." here he managed a wry grin, continuing,"I kind of worked hard on those doctorates, it's always nice to get some recognition for it."

"Well, then, _Dr_. Spencer, I've got a feeling about you. Here's my card, please, call me. I'd like to set you up with something. Maybe over coffee? Anyways, call me. This is my stop, so I'd better be going." Rebecca didn't seem at all phased by his insistence on using his proper title- he knew from experience that some people found it rude, but he had worked hard on them, like he said.

With a brilliant smile and a wink, she handed him a colourful business card with her name, phone number, and email, along with her work address on it and she was gone.

_God, she's fast,_ he thought as she pushed her way through the slog of humanity.

He was left, dazed, in his seat, clutching the card in his hand.

Then he realized that it was his stop, too, and rushed off the train in much the same manner.

By the time he arrived to work, he had stuffed the card in between pages in his sketchbook and tried to push the odd encounter from his mind as he sat down at his desk, omnipresent coffee in hand.

He got to work on some paperwork that had been left for 'later' a long while ago. Normally, he was good with getting everything filed properly and in a timely fashion, but he had been a bit distracted lately. David had begun dating a girl, her name was Abby Sciuto. She was nice enough, if a little on the weird side, but then, Spencer wasn't exactly one to talk. She was a scientist, wore a white coat and everything, which had immediately made Spencer a little bit distrustful, but she didn't seem to be evil or anything. David seemed to really like her, and they shared a fashion sense, at the very least.

Apparently, they had met at the shelter. Abby had been a volunteer for ages, but they seemed to always miss each other. When they were finally properly introduced, the first thing she did was compliment him on his eyes. In her words, they were 'very cool'. It had become a running joke in their relationship- Abby was always bugging David to tell her where he had gotten the contacts that made his eyes look reptilian.

David had been surprised- most often the reaction was more along the lines of 'freakish', but it was a pleasant surprise. They had gotten to talking, and had hit it off immediately.

But that was besides the point, he thought as he shook his head to get rid of the uncooperative thoughts.

He valiantly attempted to focus on the paperwork in front of him, but his mind kept drifting. First it thought about Abby, and then how Jenny was doing. She had caught the flu and was stuck at home. David was taking the week off to take care of her, but Spencer couldn't do that to his team, especially because it would be suspicious, as he never took vacation time.

But the most common distraction that filled his head was the lady from the train with the blonde hair and the violet tips. She had been breathtakingly beautiful, now that he thought about it. He wanted to call her, but he needed an outside opinion. The emotions he had picked up from her certainly fit with what she had been saying, but he had always been one for absolute certainty.

He couldn't ask Morgan, that was just _asking_ for teasing. While he knew the friendly agent meant nothing by it, he preferred to just avert the situation before it could occur. Prentiss was an option, but he didn't know her as well as he thought he ought to for this sort of question. Hotch and Rossi were out, because, well, they were _Hotch_ and _Rossi_. They probably didn't want to be bothered by his lack of social skills.

That left Garcia and JJ.

Normally he talked these things over with Jenny, but she was sick and he didn't want to interfere with her convalescence. Garcia was the best, but Reid was going to go with JJ on this one. He needed someone… calmer.

Mind made up, Spencer got up and strode over to JJ's office, satchel over his shoulder and coffee, again, in hand.

The door was closed, so he knocked gently before entering at the sound of JJ's 'come in!'.

"Hey, Spence. What are you doing here?"

"Um, JJ, I need a little bit of advice, if you're not too busy."

"Nope, I've just finished up with the last thing. What do you need?" the perky blonde asked, smiling at her favourite genius.

"Well, I met this girl…" Before Spencer could explain that he barely knew her, JJ had let out an excited, Garcia-esque squeal.

"Spence! That's great! What's she like, what's her name, can I meet her?"

"Um, no, JJ, it's not like that. I literally just met her, she sat next to me on the subway on the way to work. I just have to ask you about something she said."

JJ looked a bit put-out that her friend hadn't finally found someone, but dropped the matter in favour of asking, "Sure, what is it?"

"Um, well, it's kind of silly and I would prefer Morgan not hear about it, please?" Spencer's chocolate doe eyes begged JJ.

"Of course, my lips are sealed. Now what is it you need?"

"I guess what I really need is your honest opinion on this thing I did. The person I met on the train said that it was really good, but I don't think so, and so I need to know if it's actually good or if her complimenting it was just her way of, um, I don't know, flirting, or maybe she's just really nice, but I don't think so because she looked kind of bossy and she didn't have a lot of manners. Not that I can talk, but, well, yeah."

JJ raised an eyebrow at this, noting that her genius was fairly flustered over this thing, whatever it was.

"Spence, calm down, I promise I'll be honest with… whatever it is."

Spencer took a breath and nodded, reaching into his satchel and pulling out the sketchbook. JJ was confused because she was sure that Spence didn't draw, but kept her mouth shut and waited as Spencer flipped through the well-worn pages and landed on the freshly drawn subway scene that had been the cause of the whole debacle.

He handed it to JJ, who looked over it. As she examined the art, her eyes widened in what can only be described as shock.

"Spencer! Did you draw this?" she gasped after a pause.

"Um, yeah." he nodded.

"I didn't know you could draw! This is really good! How long have you been doing this?" she asked, still looking in awe at the scene in front of her. The strokes, while hurriedly placed and kind of rough, were even and precise in their placement. It seemed that Spencer had been hiding his prodigious skill.

"Um, a few months, ish. I picked it up one day because I was bored."

JJ simply stared.

Spencer, uneasy at the prolonged eye contact, looked down towards his boots, a blush starting to spread across his cheeks.

He hated being stared at- perhaps it had something to do with the first 19 years of his life being spent under surveillance. That could, you know, put a damper on the whole 'being stared at' thing.

But in any case, he looked in the direction of his feet, and, in doing so, spotted a handy file. Seeing that it was perfect for a distraction, he grabbed it and flipped it open, immediately and automatically scanning it for information. Being a genius, his brain sometimes ran two trains of thought at once, so, on one hand, he was slightly freaked by JJ's staring, and, on the other, he was paying full attention to the file in front of him.

"Well, you're really awesome. Do you mind if I look through the rest, or is it private?"

Figuring that it had already been looked through once that day, he nodded once and focused again on the file.

The case it described was frighteningly familiar. Kids from one state (Indiana) were being kidnapped. The only connection was that all of the children had been young and healthy- there was no discrimination between race, gender, class, or anything that could have helped form a profile. The only reason that the cases had been marked as 'connected' was that they were all stolen as newborns from hospitals.

There were no witnesses.

The gist of the case was the same as the thing that had happened to Spencer, when he had been a kid. Or, at least, that's what they had assumed. It made the most sense for something like that to have happened, what with the number of unsolved child abductions and such.

Spencer had no idea where he had come from, or who he had left behind. Perhaps he had a mother and a father out there, parents who held out hope for his return, despite there being no logical reason to have done so. This was, obviously, the most desirable situation, but Spencer knew that it was much more likely that his parents, whoever they were, to have signed over their child to the School, or put him up for adoption, or something of the like.

Ultimately, he had decided a long time ago that Jenny and David were the only family he needed.

"Who's this?" JJ asked, having turned the page to see an incredibly detailed portrait of David, sitting on their couch next to Abby, watching a movie or perhaps a TV show.

"That's David and his girlfriend, Abby. He lives with me and is a close friend."

JJ looked again at the couple, noticing their multiple piercings and tattoos.

"Not to be rude, but they don't seem like people I would expect you to hang around with."

"They are both some of the nicest people I have ever met- David works at the animal shelter and Abby does volunteer work there- that's how they met." Spencer said, fondness for his friend and brother infusing his voice.

JJ nodded and continued flipping pages.

Spencer placed the file where he had found it and picked up another, just to keep his mind entertained while he waited for JJ to be done.

This time, the file was even more familiar to him.

It wasn't anything that probably needed the attention of the BAU, Spencer didn't even know why it was in the pile on JJ's desk, but as soon as he opened the file he knew that his team had to take the case.

He still needed to thank her.

A mugshot of a blonde girl with a strong stance and piercing, familiar eyes stared up at him from the paper.

They were familiar because he had seen them before.

They were the eyes of his literal guardian angel, Max Ride.

_**WHOOO.**_

_**4304 words this time, that's about double the last chapter. The thing with Rebecca was completely random, and I really hope she's not a Mary Sue. Please, tell me if she comes off that way? The whole 'art' thing came about because I've recently become very interested in the subject and, you know, 'write what you know' and all that. **_

_**There are cameos from other characters from shows that I watch in here, see if you can recognize them?**_

_**REVIEW!**_

_**~Pseu**_

_**P.S. song of the update is The Bird and The Worm by Owl City, because it's the one playing. I'd also like to recommend Ain't No Grave by Johnny Cash, because it just came on.**_

_**You could say I've got a diverse taste in music.**_

_**Soooo review! **_


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